The Rules of the Game
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: Actually based on the liveaction version of 101 Dalmatians... While sitting in jail, Jasper contemplates how he got into the whole mess with Cruella. Warning: Not therapeutic for people who have obsessions with Hugh Laurie. This will only make it worse.


_Dear Readers,_

_If this seems random, it is. It was fueled by my obsession with Hugh Laurie. I just _had_ to write something about Jasper from 101 Dalmatians for the sole reason that Hugh Laurie played him in the live-action version. Beware of these obsessions...they're like the glop from Spiderman 3--they take over you and never let you go! AAAH! (But all the same, I would appreciate you reading and reviewing :D)_

_Best Regards from a Bookworm,_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

* * *

So...jail wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

He'd accepted her job offer because it was the only thing available at the time...plus, he thought it just might give him a tiny bit of social importance. He'd never been rich, or popular, for that matter. Nor had he ever had a good job. So naturally, working for her, the most famous fashion designer in all of England, appealed to him. It would bring him up to par with the elusive world of the elite, a golden trifle he'd never been able to grasp, let alone touch. True, it wasn't his field—fashion was a woman's expertise. He was a man, and one with absolutely no sense of style, for that matter (although she _had _complimented his jaunty little hat upon their first meeting). But maybe, just maybe, being her gofer would move him upward a little step on that societal staircase, just a bit closer to that prize, to where he'd wanted to be his whole life.

But the job hadn't been what he'd been expecting.

She said it would require cunning. And risk-taking. Sneakiness, deceit, wit—all of the things he had, and had used throughout his entire life. No, he wasn't really a conman—but he'd dabbled in espionage before, and he knew how to trace circles around his opponents. The things he'd done prior to taking his job for her had been much more dangerous than what he thought he was getting into. Yes, he had thought she needed him to help her wiggle her way around tricky salesmen, conniving competitors, companies and stores with prospective deals and money to offer her. He'd be dealing with the best of the lot—corporate executives needing new contracts, agents hungry for their actress clients' new wardrobes, millionaires desperate for wedding anniversary presents. Rubbing elbows with the finest, he would be. Perhaps he'd work his way up so far he'd end up helping her manage the business. Yes, he was going to be her leading man, and one day, he'd get credit for it big time. But his impression had been all wrong. Terribly, utterly, and completely wrong.

She had wanted him to steal puppies.

When he had first heard the proposal of her so-called brilliant plan, he had been so shocked he had nearly fainted. Puppies? Dalmatian puppies? That was all she wanted—a load of puppies she could use for some elaborate new coat she had desired since the day she was born or some sort of crap like that—he hadn't exactly been listening to the whole of her ramblings-on. Looking back upon the experience, he knew he should've expected something of that ridiculous nature. What wealthy, pretentious person would have given a low-life like him a respectable job? That sort of thing would go against social protocol. And someone like Cruella De Vil was not the sort of person to take a step down from the great pedestal of fame and fortune just to give a poor man the opportunity of a lifetime. In fact, he was to learn that she was worse than that—much, _much_ worse.

The first thing he'd learned—by word of her own mouth—was that _she_ was the boss, and was to be looked upon as no less than that. He was to treat her like a queen, because that was how she thought she deserved to be treated. The second thing he'd learned—very quickly, in fact—was that she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it and in the exact way she wanted it. There were to be no excuses, no "changes of plan", no "getting caught in traffic jams", no "I can't find what you want me to look for" nonsense. Messing with her desires was, in her world, a mortal sin that was deserving of very severe punishment. Which, he soon realized, could mean a number of different things. The third thing he learned was that she really was a cruel devil. In fact, she was maniacal, diabolical, even a bit bloodthirsty—and if _anyone_ got in her way, she would let him or her know it. He hadn't realized the extent of her lunacy until he'd really gotten involved in her dirty work. She laughed at the mere thought of slaughtering puppies—a trilling laugh that rose in volume until it was a mindless, witch-like cackle of horror. It had sent shivers shooting down his spine every time he'd heard it. She also had a disturbing habit of talking to her furs as if they were her lovers—_that _had made him want to puke a number of times. It was creepy, _she_ was creepy. She was like the human Medusa, the incarnation of pure evil. She terrified him because he never knew what kind of reaction he could expect from her, what would set her off or what would send her into a fit of utter delight. Finally, the fourth thing he'd learned was that he was to have a partner, just in case he was too idiotic to do figure out how to do the job himself. There was to be _no_ complaining. Those were the rules of the game.

Horace ended up being the idiot. He bumbled around, not knowing what was going on half the time, acting as if he paid attention to what was being said and then forgetting it altogether. Jasper had tried to knock some sense into him at the beginning, but it was no use. The man was a hopeless imbecile, doomed to be dumb for the rest of his life. He was the worst partner Jasper had ever worked with, not to mention the most annoying. There had been countless times when all he'd wanted to do was whack Horace in the head and tell him to fix his own bloody brain. But then again, Horace wasn't smart enough to understand even that demand.

Chasing and abducting puppies had not been fun. At first, he'd reveled in the idea of stuffing them into a bag and hearing them cry out helplessly with no replies—he was just a tiny bit like Cruella (but definitely not as insane). But after awhile, it became tedious, especially with stupid Horace tagging along. And the puppies were smarter than he and Horace had anticipated. There were nuisances, terrible little brats, running this way and that, leading them into traps and even _laughing_ at their clumsy mistakes and mishaps. He'd wanted to strangle each and every one of them by the end of it all. They, and a band of other clever animals—imagine that, _animals_—had been the sole reason he, Cruella, Horace, and that silent monster Skinner had been arrested. He hated it, the fact that he had been outsmarted by a bunch of silly, smelly little brutes. He had always been clever—maybe not academically smart, but clever—and now he had to spend the rest of his life brooding over his incredible stupidity. Animals. How had he allowed himself to be roped into this mess?

Maybe it had been his ambition, or his selfishness, or perhaps he really was as foolish as Cruella thought he was. He'd let her trick him into thinking he'd be the greatest thing since Bill Gates, and then he'd been chucked into a pit of worthless scrambling around after creatures that had higher intelligence levels than that of him and Horace combined. If he hadn't had been so eager, so desperate, maybe he wouldn't have jumped at the offer. Or maybe if he hadn't been so conceited and hadn't had been looking for something to fill up his cup of selfish desires. Whatever had happened, he realized it was his own bloody fault, and now he was stuck in a grubby jail cell to mull over his predicament until his time was up.

The rules of the game had never been so costly. Until now.

* * *

_So...what'd you think? Please review; I like reviews. And I like Hugh Laurie...okay, that's why I wrote this...aaah! The Laurie muse has taken over my life!!!! bangs head on table I am not obsessed, I am not obsessed..._

_Hugh: Yes, you are._

_Me: GO AWAY! _

_Hugh: Why do you keep watching _House_, then?_

_Me: Stoppit!_


End file.
